To the Mountains

In our experience, you can’t plan a trip to the mountains (in Europe, at least). We are not beach people, we are much more at home in the countryside and there is no more majestic countryside than mountains. The trouble with mountains is that they attract weather. If there is any unstable weather floating about in the vicinity, the mountains will be the first to feel the effect. A couple of times in the last few years we’ve thought, “oh, it’d be nice to go to the Alps/Pyrenees” but, come trip time, the weather on the peaks has collapsed. We went elsewhere since, even with time on your hands, there is little point deliberately driving into bad weather. To capitalize on the mountains, you need to be flexible enough to react when the circumstances (i.e. favourable weather) arise.

Today, all our friends were leaving Fanjeaux. One other thing that we’ve learned is that staying on in a campsite after having been in the company of friends is a mistake; in the aftermath you feel like Billy No-mates. That’s depressing. Much better to make a clean break of it and move on so that’s what we wanted to do.

Time for our two lessons to come together. We’ve been lucky enough to hit a real Indian Summer. Luc clearly thinks rain is some way off ‘cos he’s watering his fields. For the weekend at least, the weather looks set fair all over France including over the Pyrenees. With cloudless skies, there are few sights more impressive. We’ve decided to head for Bagnère-de-Bigorre at the foot of the high Pyrenees within easy reach of several of the most impressive cols regularly featuring in the Tour de France.

Back in the mists of time, Franco and Bagnère-de-Bigorre have met before. My only memory is a frustrating one. It was 20-ish years ago. On that occasion we had first visited the Marais de Poitevin where I enjoyed taking some of my finest photographs (on a real film camera, of course) of the misty marais mornings. Then I snapped my way down the western side of France to Bagnère-de-Bigorre, nestling below the high Pyrenees. We made our way up the imposing Col du Tourmalet where I continued snapping away at the Pyrenean vistas from the highest road pass in the range (2115mtrs/6900ft).

I always loaded films of 36 exposures in my camera. It was quite usual to get 37 shots, occasionally even 38 shots from a roll of film. 39 seemed most unlikely and by the time I hit 40 exposures I knew something was wrong. I feared the sprocket holes had ripped through and the film itself was not advancing, only the frame counter. Heart in mouth, I steeled myself and opened the back of my camera. There was no problem with the sprocket holes. Actually, there were no sprocket holes at all; the camera was embarrassingly devoid of film – completely and utterly empty! What a wombat!! Gone were all my prize-winning [Ed: dream on.] shots of the misty Marais Poitevin. Gone were my high Pyrenean vistas.

IMG_1991_Pyrenean_moon The digital equivalent of having no film might be running out of battery power. I’ve checked it; this time should be more successful. Our first evening on our chosen new campsite provided an interesting test shot: a reasonably new moon just touching the top of one of the lower peaks adjacent to us.

Fingers crossed that this weather holds for our last week. 🙂

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The Canal du Midi

One of the attractions for us here at the Fanjeaux campsite is that it is run by the friendliest, most welcoming French family we’ve ever met. A regular visitor soon feels like a personal friend. The aspect that makes it a good base for a lengthy stay, however, is that it is well placed for several attractions not too distant. To the South, about 90 minutes distant, are the Pyrenees towering above Ax-les-Thermes where there are some very attractive valleys, both for walking and nature enthusiasts. About one hour away to the east is the Mediterranean coast around Narbonne for those keen to sample a little beach life or simply to enjoy a fishy lunch at the attractive little town of Gruissan. For the shopping enthusiast (i.e. women), the bustling town of Toulouse lies about an hour west. To the north, about 45 minutes away, are Les Montagnes Noires [the Black Mountains], source of the water that keeps the famous Canal du Midi “flowing”.

One stretch of the 240kms/150mls long Canal du Midi passes beneath Fanjeaux to the north only about 15 minutes away. An engineering icon, the canal may not be the most scintillating place in the world but, with it’s mostly flat, famously tree-lined banks, it certainly provides a calm and shady environment for those wanting a relaxing stroll or bike ride. Its boat traffic varies from the most numerous plastic bath-tub-like tourist rental boats (I swear they’ll have Armitage-Shanks written on them somewhere) through the gin palace cruisers, the big boys’ toys, to the much more appealing and interesting converted large barges that used to ply their trade along the canal. Now, of course, many of these erstwhile working boats are also rental boats but they are v. expensive, come with a skipper who knows how to drive them, and have much more character than all the others put together.

With large boats plodding up and down the ecluses [locks] naturally have to be large. They are permanently manned so that grockels can’t mess up the water usage (sensible decision) and power operated rather than manual. Oddly, considering the tourist traffic, the canal is not over-commercialized and there seem to be relatively few places to get fed and watered.

IMG_1942_Canal_du_Midi P1010642_Canal_du_Midi P1010647_Canal_du_Midi Here’s a few pictures to give a flavour of a short stretch of one of the worlds more famous waterways.

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Plateau de Beille

Francine and I have become fans of the Tour de France. I think one of the main reasons is that, after a 6-ish-week trip around France in June and early July, the three weeks of Le Tour when back at home lets us down gently; the television coverage is a great way to enjoy some of the finer sights of the French countryside.

This year, one of the mountain stages of Le Tour finished at at the Plateau de Beille in the Pyrenees. It is very close to one of our favoured Pyrenean haunts, the barrage de Soulcem, about 1½ hours drive away from our campsite. On the TV it had looked very attractive so, to try somewhere new on a fine day, we popped off to have a look.

The road up the mountain to the plateau was interesting from a number of standpoints. Firstly, as is the habit on Le Tour, the road surface was still colourfully painted with the names of various of the star riders as a sign of support by adoring fans. That somehow made me feel closer to the real action, albeit past.

Second was the gradient. The TV coverage tends to talk of “average gradients of 8% (1 in 12) or 10% (1 in 10)”. This doesn’t do the efforts of the riders justice; some sections feel dramatically steeper, especially those turning a hairpin bend. It was hard enough to drive up let alone cycle up … and at some speed, too. My admiration for the professional cyclists’ fitness increased tremendously.

IMG_1975_Plateau-de-Beille P1010658_French_parking Thirdly there were a couple of related sights that just left us wondering, “how the hell did that get there?”. Yes, there’s a decent road up to the plateau but, even given the French flare for parking, there are certain places that I don’t expect to see vehicles parked. Here’s a couple of photographic examples, hopefully demonstrating what I mean. Goood views, though!

The plateau de Beille is a winter ski resort. In summer, such places can be very drab, dead places but not the plateau de Beille. Here we found several sentiers [footpaths] with circular routes of various lengths for walkers of varying fitness/abilities. We chose one that claimed to be 1¾ hrs long and facile [easy]. “Lazy tykes!”, you might say. Well, yes, I’d trend to agree but, in mitigation, I’d offer our knowledge of other European walking grades, notably those in Spain. We were a little wary first time out.

P1010666_Plateau-de-Beille Everything started well and, as we thought, facile meant quite a lot of uphill gradient to begin with. About half way around, the other typical French problem struck: we lost the balisages [waymarks]. Stumbling around we came a cross a French lady and her dog; she went to great lengths in French to tell us that the path was not well marked. We could but agree. We had been follow some other walkers (those in the photo), clearly on the same route. They had disappeared into some trees though we could see no obvious path. As we were stumbling around searching for way markers, this same group of walkers returned. They happened to be English, had lost the path, had given up searching and were going to make their own way back to the start point. Curiously, one of the ladies claimed to have done that route before.

Eventually, after determined searching, I did find the intended path and we continued making our way back to the skiing station from which we had begunb along the official route. There was a lot more up and down. However, even allowing for our going around in a circle or two searching for the track, the walk took only a little over an hour.

Maybe if we went slower we wouldn’t get lost. 😀

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Satan’s Little Disciples

I spotted farmer Luc down cleaning les sanitaires on Wednesday so I went for short natter, largely as an opportunity to voice my concerns about the effect the intensive fish farming was having on the wildlife of his site, in which he had previously seemed genuinely interested. I had trouble gauging his reaction, much of which consisted of rather typical Gallic shrugs. As if my heart weren’t already heavy enough about Satan in Heaven, he told me that, on Thursday afternoon, a school trip of 40 children would be camping here but for one night only, he stressed, and that they would be  camped at the far end of the campsite away from us. He also jokingly asked if we’d be spending the night in a hotel. This is no joking matter. Unfortunately, children the world over seem to regard a sanitary block as play area so the distance would be no safety barrier. I don’t think he had any problem gauging my reaction.

This bunch of Satan’s Little Disciples actually numbered 43 and were aged between 11 and 13. They were in the company of just three adults which, given the environment, felt to us like insufficient adult supervision though, for all the supervision they appeared to exert, frankly there might as well have been just one adult. I’d have expected school teachers (from a private school, BTW) to at least pay some heed to the fact that they were on a public campsite and to show some consideration for the peace and sanity of members of the public camped here. Not a bit of it, they appeared to allow the little noise machines to treat the entire campsite as their own school playground.

When we returned on Thursday evening, the kids were running about all over the digue [dyke] unsupervised which struck as as somewhat foolhardy in a drowning-children kind of way. I managed to miss every one of them as we drove back in across the digue.

On Friday morning the so-called adults unhelpfully organized a treasure hunt which had the effect of actively forcing the screaming brats to run about the entire campsite looking for the “treasure”. Two of the little monsters had actually secreted the treasure just a few yards/metres from our caravan, right on the lakeside corner of our pitch. Franco struck back; if they’re spoiling my fun I feel the right to spoil theirs. After a suitable interlude (i.e. not too long), Franco took one little brat aside and revealed the location of the treasure bringing the “game” to a swift conclusion.

The irresponsible adults had another trick up their sleeve, though. One of them proceeded to organize some kind of lesson on the lawn, the lawn in question being away from their camping area in front of the sanitary block and close to the area where the sane adults were camped. Quite outrageous!

We left for the day again hoping they’d be gone by the time we returned. When we did eventually return at 4:30 PM, the brats’ coach was only just leaving thus returning the campsite to some semblance of serenity. The “just for one night” evidently meant for a complete school day as well.

We do not expect Nadine and Luc to turn down money; this is, after all, a commercial venture. 43 kids plus 3 so-called adults is a reasonable amount of income.  We would, however, expect those organizing the trip to show some respect for others surrounded by this unfortunate invasion, especially bearing in mind the rules of the campsite we stayed on at Maussanne-les-Alpilles earlier in the trip [do not disturb neighbours with noise of radios, TVs or voices even during the day]. Expecting people to camp in a school playground for a day is utterly unacceptable.

This is the third time we’ve suffered a group of children here in September and this one was by far the largest tbhough not, perversely, the noisiest. It is still a very pleasant campsite but September will have to be avoided. Lesson learned.

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Emerald Sunset

Amongst the poor showing of dragonflies remaining on farmer Luc’s lake this September is the Willow Emerald (Lestes viridis). Willow Emeralds are interesting critters in that they do not oviposit in water. Rather, they lay their eggs in the thinner, younger branches of trees overhanging water. Here, the egg develops and the resultant larva then drops into the water and continues to grow as other damselfly larvae. This means that the Willow Emeralds’ eggs, at least, will not form a part of the enormous fish population’s diet. Of course, the freshly emerged larvae may still suffer heavy predation.

IMG_1867_Willow_Emerald_close-upThere are still a few Emerald Damselflies flitting about the bushes surrounding our pitch and grabbing the odd passing small fly. One evening, as we were eating our evening meal, a couple of Emerald Damselflies were on the lookout for their evening meal in the last rays of the setting sun. Willow Emeralds are a wonderful irridescent green colour which the golden quality of the light was enhancing irresistibly. I thought I’d try to see how close I could get with my new(ish) macro lens. The damsel in question proved to be unusually co-operative and allowed me about as close as the lens can get. This shot is full frame, uncropped – as the camera saw it. 😉

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Red Letter Day

Well, pink actually, but I need some poetic license. 😀

During our June trip here, Francine spotted an unusual looking dragonfly; unusual in that it was the shape of a Scarlet Darter (Crocothemis erythrea) but t appeared to be pink to her, as opposed to bright red. Happily, though equipped with the wrong lens, she snagged a distant picture but it was enough for me to identify it as a Violet-marked Darter/Violet Dropwing (Trithemis annulata). I’d never seen one but had been distracted by others’ camping difficulties and missed this gorgeous creature, too. I still hadn’t seen one. I was green with envy, to put it mildly. Actually I was as sick as the proverbial parrot.

With there being almost no dragonfly activity on farmer Luc’s lake this time around, we set off to explore a lower part of La Rigole where we had previously enjoyed a little Odonata entertainment. Here, a loop in La Rigole almost encloses a small lake, again made by a small digue [dam]. Our first look revealed very little, just a few Blue-tailed Damselflies (Ischnura elegans) which appear to enjoy quite a long flight season.

Before giving up and taking to our bikes, we set off wandering across the top of the digue itself. There was more activity here, and we soon spotted what appeared to be a Scarlet Darter perched on an ex-flower. I approached as calmly and carefully as I could down the 45° slope of the digue wall, got the monopod in position without disturbing it and stared through the viewfinder to focus. As it came into focus, the red turned to a delightful pink. Speechless! Well, not quite, what I actually muttered was “Christ, it’s a Violet!”

IMG_1879_Violet_Dropwing Just how stunning are these creatures? They are apparently very common in their range but I don’t think I could ever get blasé about these. An African species, they are slowly moving into the southern extremes of Europe  and we are on the north-western limits of their as yet small toe hold in southern France. There were actually at least three males and a female so we watched a little dragonfly sex show for a while hoping to catch the female at rest but without luck. No matter, I was already delighted.

We did eventually tear ourselves away but it was difficult for me; I could have watched for hours.

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Satan in Heaven

We have arrived back at the site that I tend to refer to as our slice of heaven the sheep farm at Fanjeaux. What made it so heavenly for me? Well, it is a small site of just 25 very generously sized pitches beside a tranquil lake which has generally provided a lot of leisure interest for nature enthusiasts with its mix of wildlife: frogs, tree frogs, water birds, birds of prey, butterflies and, of course, dragonflies and damselflies. Being a confirmed Darwinist, I should have realized that heaven doesn’t actually exist.

We were here during our last trip in June and I began developing misgivings then. Farmer Luc and Nadine, our hosts, had developed concerns about a déséquilibre, an imbalance. Luc et al have always been concerned that the lake, a source of irrigation water, was home to too many frogs – there were literally thousands of them – but now they were also concerned that it was becoming choked with a surfeit of pond weed having lost most of its fish a few years previously. Their approach to the biblical plague of frogs was typically Gallic – trap them and eat them. Their solution to the weed problem was to introduce a lot of huge (0.5m/18in long) Grass Carp to munch it. In June, the Carp had certainly dramatically reduced the amount of greenery in the water, so much so that the damselfly population seemed to be struggling to find somewhere to oviposit. There did seem to be fewer Odonata than previous years.

P1010633_Fish_feeder Now for Satan. Beside the lake a large, green Heath-Robinson-like floating contraption has appeared. This turned out to be a device for delivering fish food pellets. In addition to the Grass Carp, the lake was now also being used by a fish farmer who had introduced many thousands of baby Koi Carp to grow on. The addition of food was necessary to sustain the unnaturally high density of fish.

So, here we are again in September. We were told that, just last week, Mr. Fishbreeder extracted 100kgs/220lbs of Koi Carp from the lake. On one sunny day recently, I estimated seeing at least a further thousand, now considerably bigger, Koi in just one sunlit corner of the lake. Further along the lakeside, I spotted another basking shoal of  probably another thousand. There are now very few waterfowl on the lake – just one family of young Mallards and a single young Coot who has since disappeared – and even the frogs seem noticeably fewer, though still numerous. Most disappointing for me, however, is the pathetically low number of Odonata; there’s just a handful of individuals remaining. Admittedly, their season is drawing to a close but there really should be more. There is absolutely no pond weed visible and, other than falling autumnal leaves from the surrounding Poplar trees, no floating vegetation on the water.

My fears are as follows. Most waterfowl eat pond vegetation; there isn’t any. No food, no birds. Very interestingly though, others staying here report that they’ve witnessed the ducks, traditionally grazers, eating a fish which I hitherto thought they didn’t do. Without surface vegetation, damselflies cannot oviposit though dragonflies still can. However, Koi Carp will eat pretty much anything; they’ll certainly east freshly deposited dragonfly eggs and, I fear, any larvae that happen to develop. A normal density of fish, one that the lake could support naturally, would not consume everything but this is an artificially maintained, unnaturally high density that could well vacuum up every scrap of natural food available, especially as they are apparently not now being fed pellets. I’m quite sure any frog spawn would be viewed by them as a good food source, also.

An Odonata population could potentially be destroyed in one year since adults live for only a few summer months. Frogs, living longer, will take more time to decline but, if their reproductive efforts simply feed huge amounts of fish, decline they will.

I fear that this erstwhile wildlife haven – I’ve personally counted 17 species of Odonata on this one, modest lake – has now been transformed into something more resembling a wildlife desert. It is now a lake for intensive fish farming only. If this isn’t a déséquilibre, I don’t know what is.

There is a silver lining for some – those that eat fish. There have always been Grey Herons resident snapping up frogs but now they think all their Christmases have come at once. A gull (I suspect a Yellow-legged Gull) is also taking a healthy interest in the lake and I watched it swallow three gold-coloured fish in the space of a a few minutes. Way to go, Gullie! More exotically, a Kingfisher may have taken up residence. Francine spotted it and I’ve heard it peeping.

What we need is a modest flock of Pelicans and a couple of Pike. 😀

I hope my fears are unfounded but it’ll be interesting to see next year, if we return. 🙁

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Crêpie Birthday

Our main reason for meeting our friends, Mike & Linda, in this neck of the woods was for a double birthday celebration. Francine has become very fond of a sunny seafood lunch overlooking our favourite harbour in Marseillan. As it happens, Linda, whose birthday is the day before Francine’s, seemed to find that idea appealing so our plan for this combined jolly was hatched.

IMG_1835_Pancake_tossing Francine has another little plan simmering away in her head. When we move on to Fanjeaux, during our stay their it will be farmer Luc’s 50th. We’ll have missed his fête [party] which was held a week ago when all his family could attend, but Francine fancies making him some English pancakes to compare to French crêpes. Having not made them for many years, she was keen to practice. After all, we can’t have the French thinking that British food is substandard, can we? She’s even come equipped with a non-stick frying pan to practice the all-important tossing of the pancake to cook the second side. Organized or what? Today being Linda’s birthday, Francine practiced on us for breakfast.

There’s been a cloud forming on the horizon for most of the week. First of all, Mike & Linda’s daughter developed an upset intestinal tract. She left on Friday and is now home and better. A few days ago, Mike developed a similar complaint which seemed to be improving. Overnight, however, he suffered a relapse. Part way through this morning, Linda began complaining of what seemed like the beginnings of the same problem.

Eating was not a good idea for either of them and, besides, the sky really is overcast today so lunch in Marseillan harbour has been cancelled. Being under the weather away from home is decidedly worse than in familiar surroundings so they’ve cancelled their last night here and are driving back home.

An unfortunate way to end the week. We feel a little flat but will move on tomorrow and have Francine’s birthday meal with the sheep on the farm at Fanjeaux.

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Local Harbour Craft

In the local harbours of Marseillan, Mèze and Sète, the attentive wandering tourist may catch sight of some rather curious looking rowing boats. It’s entirely possible that these craft also occur in other harbours further afield but the three towns mentioned, all surrounding the Basin de Thau, mark the limit of our personal experience.

P1010629_Lance These rowing boats are most often seen stored idle with a kind of wooden ladder-like device resting across the top of them, between prow and stern, across the area where rowers would sit in order to row. Just occasionally, however, you might catch a glimpse of the boats with these strange ladder devices deployed as if ready for action. I’d have to say that seeing the ladders installed in this way doesn’t necessarily help to determine the craft’s real purpose. Here are a couple that we snapped, “ladders” at the ready, in Marseillan harbour.

Given that much of the local action revolves around the sea, the fishing and oyster farming industries in particular, I think my first assumption was that these were some kind of peculiar fishing device. I’ve seen more oriental native fishing vessels deploying bright lights to attract fish at night. Could these be related in some way?

No, the truth is much stranger. Imagine the court of King Arthur, dignitaries seated in galleries watching two armour clad knights, each carrying long lances and shields, mounted aboard heavy horses. The knights thunder towards each other astride their steeds attempting to unseat their opponent with the lance. Now, replace the heavy horses with rowing boats, move the knight, complete with his lance but without the heavy armour, up onto the strange ladder device and have the boats row towards each other in the harbour. The lancers attempt to tip each into the drink but do, I believe, attempt to avoid any Arthurian bloodshed.

Now you have it – quite a colourful image. Unfortunately we’ve never actually seen these boats in action but it looks as though we just missed it in Mèze, judging by the grandstand that was erected on the harbour side.

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Vendange

In the previous post I introduced one of the local wine specialities, Picpoul de Pinet, Picpoul being the grape variety and Pinet being the village carrying the appelation. Along with Mike and Linda, we visited a couple of caves, one a cooperative in Pomérols (not to be confused with the Pomerol of Bordeaux fame) and one, our favourite Picpoul de Pinet producer, in Pinet itself. I normally don’t buy quantities of wine in bottles because the glass adds considerable weight but for Picpoul de Pinet I’m prepared to make an exception; it can be a difficult wine to track down at home. For some odd reason, our car felt considerably heavier and more sluggish on the return trip. 😉

Vendange [the grape harvest], supposedly a very good one this year, is now in full swing. What that means is that you are unlikely to drive down any of the roads, be they side roads or a main roads, in the area without finding your progress impeded by one of the many classic small tractors pulling a trailer laden with freshly harvested bunches of grapes. The tractors are limited to 25kmh but, hey, they’re producing our favourite drink and I’m in no hurry. 🙂

P1010610_Vendange Today we cycled past our favourite Picpoul de Pinet cave once again. Cycling is much the better option ‘cos you can’t carry away any booty and, as you can see from the picture, there isn’t much room remaining on the street for anything else to get by. The place was swarming with tractors delivering trailer-loads of grapes having recently been holding up traffic on their journey from the various vineyards. About half a dozen were lined up across the front of the cave making a sight that rather resembled a Le Mans start for a tractor race – top speed 25kmh, of course.

‘T was a great piece of local colour. The folks selling the wine were also kind enough to replenish our water bottles for the return trip

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